


All The Things You Are, Are Mine

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friendship/Love, Hit With A Clue-By-Four, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-08-30 05:53:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8520937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: Harry's pretending to be Draco's boyfriend in front of the Malfoys. But Harry bungles it in the worst best way.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This gift is for DarkRavenWrote. Merry Christmas, darling, and I hope you like this :D
> 
> A huge thank you to [Crowgirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl) and [GeronimoandbeMAGnificent](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Geronimoandbemagnificent) for their awesome beta skills. 
> 
> The title comes from a Kern/Hammerstein song, All the Things You Are. [Listen here, please](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OjZo4X9zmLA) and swoon over a very young Frank Sinatra

“I’m not gonna sit here and listen to this shite any more. You haven’t changed at all. You’re still a fucking bully.”

Harry pushed his chair away from the elegant dining table with enough force that the crystal goblets lurched from the place settings. Narcissa gasped; Lucius cringed as wine swirled up the glass and over onto the white linen table cloth. Harry took a moment’s pleasure in Lucius’ anger before wrenching Draco to his feet. “Get up. We’re leaving.”

“Pott—Harry, we can’t just—” Draco stammered, snatching at the napkin drifting to his feet and grabbing only air.

Harry talked louder, not hearing Draco’s words over the blood throbbing in his ears. “You’ve torn him down in a thousand ways since we got here, but Draco is the kindest, most gentle, most smartest person I’ve ever met. How the hell did a twat like you raise him?”

He grabbed Draco’s hand and turned to Narcissa, whose eyes were trained on her plate as she slowly sliced her chicken breast. “Thank you for inviting me to lunch,” Harry said, trying to approximate the respectful tone he’d heard Draco use to their Auror department secretaries. “I had a nice time.”

“Mr. Potter, are you quite finished?” Lucius dabbed at a non-existent spot at the corner of his top lip, his voice icy and still.

But neither of them heard the piercing words as Harry pinned Draco’s arms to his arms to his side and turned them on the spot. They disapparated before Lucius finished his sentence.

They reappeared in the dark living room at Grimmauld Place, the dying fire not enough to fight the wintery chill. Draco tried to wrestle out of Harry’s arms, but Harry held tight.

“I can’t believe--I’m so—” Harry’s words that flowed so freely a minute ago disappeared as the cold reality of what he’d done set in.

“What the hell was _that?_ ” Malfoy asked, his voice rising with what Harry thought was panic--what else could it be after Harry’d basically told Lucius to go fuck himself. 

Harry replayed the scene in his head, and cringed each time because he was as big an idiot as Malfoy had ever said. He _knew_ he’d been right to stand up for Draco; he deserved so much better from a father, but…what had he been thinking. Harry’s stomach churned as the words he’d shouted at Lucius bounced around his brain. Fucking Merlin, he’d called him a _twat._ No wonder Draco was panicking. “I know we were pretending, but I couldn’t listen to him rip you apart. You’re too—”

“Most smartest?” Draco leaned back, putting space between his face and Harry’s. “I realize you’re a cretin, but even you must be able to parse fundamental grammar.”

Harry shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts; obviously, he was being thick again. Because it seemed like, instead of shredding Harry for being incredibly inappropriate, Draco had just casually insulted Harry’s ability to speak English.

Or maybe it was Draco who was confused. Really confused. Because he was smiling, which wasn't a scowl. Or a sneer. Or at very least a vaguely dissatisfied tsk. 

“Why aren’t you angry? You should be angry.” Harry shook his head again which wasn’t actually helping clarify anything. Why didn’t it work like it did in books? “Our agreement was for me to pretend to be in love with you. To be your boyfriend.”

A lock of Harry’s fringe had come loose from the charm he’d used to hold it down, and it curled at his eyebrow. Draco carefully pushed it back and pressed it into place. “And you did,” Draco said, smiling fondly. _Fondly._

With his large hands, Harry framed Draco’s face, holding it in place. “But—I told off your father.”

“Quite spectacularly, too.” Draco smiled, inching closer than when they’d disapparated. “Really very well done, Potter.”

This was wrong. 

He'd only agreed to this pretense because at least he would be near Draco and that was _something_. He’d wanted this so badly for so long. To belong to this sweet, loving Draco (to be honest, to belong to the snarky, caustic Draco was okay, too) and have him belong to Harry. But short of an unlikely wormhole or illegal time-turner, that would never happen because it would require that Malfoy like him. Not pick apart everything Harry did at work. Not barely tolerate his existence. Not seeking out ways to make Harry miserable each day, down to making his tea wrong. It was _not. right._ Malfoy being all _sweet_ and _nice_ when Harry’d fucked up their agreement so badly.

Harry gave Draco’s head a small shake, mostly because it was going to work on someone. “Malfoy. Listen to me. I think you were hurt when we disapparated. Like, maybe I splinched your brain or something because you’re acting all...nice. Which is weird and wrong.”

When Draco didn’t respond, Harry _knew_ he was right. He’d ruined the brightest, most clever brain the Aurors had. Oh, this was bad. And on top of that, Harry could feel he was beginning to hyperventilate. And if he didn’t bend over and slow down his breathing, it would be a full-blown attack. But Draco wouldn’t let go.

For a moment, he studied Draco’s eyes, searching for answers. _I can always tell if one of you is sick,_ Mrs. Weasley had said countless times. _I can see it in your eyes_. For the first time, Harry noticed the blue in Draco’s grey eyes as he rolled them (at least _that_ was familiar) in response. He breathed in the Beaujolais that Draco had sipped, the hint of raspberry and cherry thick and heady in the space between their lips. With Draco so close, his lips strawberry-stained, all Harry knew was that he wanted to drag his tongue across those lips, to suck one, to separate the wine’s sweet taste from Malfoy’s tart self. Harry felt his chest slow, but his heart still pounded.

“Draco?”

Draco sighed. “You’re an idiot, Potter.” He closed the sliver of space between their mouths, and Harry stopped thinking and lost himself in the movement of lips, of Draco's thumb stroking his cheek. When Draco pressed his leg between Harry’s, Harry whimpered. He would have gladly stolen a time-turner to have this moment last. 

The kiss was perfect, the way they fit together, how they moved like they’d done this forever. And that was the problem: it shouldn’t have been perfect. It shouldn’t have been anything because they had no one to pretend for. And Malfoy didn’t like him.

And Harry didn’t need a pity kiss. A pity fuck, maybe, but that was completely different.

“What did you do that for?” Harry asked, stepping away from Malfoy stopping just short of wiping his lips on the back of his hand. “You don’t even like me.”

Draco laughed and brushed his thumb over Harry’s cheek, like he was something special and irreplaceable. Maybe Harry was the one who’d been splinched. Because his head hurt and nothing made sense.

“What makes you say that I don’t like you?” Draco reached out to tug the end of Harry’s bowtie.

Harry batted his hand out of the way and stepped back. “You’re always laughing at me.”

“That’s because you do stupid things.” Draco moved closer to Harry and took Harry’s hand in his, lacing their fingers.

Harry looked at their hands. “You make my tea wrong every morning.” 

“That’s only to annoy you so you’ll talk to me.” Draco leaned in to kiss Harry, but Harry turned his head away in shock.

“You get me the wrong drink at the pub every time.”

“But I invite _you_. Not a group. You.” Malfoy’s smile faded.

He stepped back, his body now hard, straight lines and his voice cool and reserved once again. “I assumed you felt the same way and and simply needed a nudge, so I invited you to be my pretend boyfriend. I thought perhaps we’d drink all of Father’s wine, endure his tirades, and when we left, you’d say something or do something. And then you said those dreadful things to Father and stormed out, and it was the most romantic thing anyone ever—”

Harry saw the emotions dim in Draco’s eyes, and the old, cold Malfoy replaced this one Harry liked so much more. Draco dropped their hands. When he finally spoke, his voice was frigid like Hogwarts-Malfoy. “Clearly I’ve misread the situation. I’ll be going now.”

Before Draco could flee, Harry grabbed his shoulders to hold him in place and kissed Draco. Looking back, he’d say it was more mashing their faces together, but Harry hadn’t wanted Draco to leave before he could do something.

“Potter. What are you doing?” Draco asked with Harry’s lips still pressed to his.

“If you have to ask, I must be doing it wrong,” Harry said. His laughter threatened to bubble over between them, which would seriously ruin any mood that he might hope was beginning.

“Oh, you’re doing it right,” Draco said, sounding bewildered, but Harry hoped Draco would just go with it. “But I thought you didn’t, you weren’t--”

So. Not going to just go with it.

Harry stepped back and untied his silk bow tie that Draco had insisted he wear. He smiled as he unthreaded it from the stiff collar and dropped it to the floor. “I’m a little slow on the uptake. Isn’t that what you say? But I always get there.”

Then Harry dragged Draco’s tie from under the collar and released it. Draco watched it flutter to the floor and whimpered when it landed atop Harry’s. He kissed Harry with clear intention. “Eventually is better than never.” 

Harry couldn’t argue with that at all.


End file.
